


Discount Chocolate

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Brief reference to Wayne/Marie, Canon Compliant (Ish), M/M, PWP, Post Valentimes Day, Public Sex, porn without plot/plot what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 11:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18939793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Against all odds, Stewart doesn't seem so bad.





	Discount Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> so you and your roomie binged all of letterkenny the other day.....
> 
> no but really, we finished letterkenny in a matter of days and I've read thru all the fic here on ao3 and my muse has decided it needs to churn out some fic, too! I've got a couple things I'm working on but we'll see if I manage to finish them. in the mean time, I hope you enjoy this! did my best to nail that letterkenny dialect. 
> 
> fwiw: this takes place post Valentimes Day, and I ascribe to the theory that Stewart does legit just have a weave/wig and that Wayne proposed to Marie at the end of season 6 and she said no.
> 
> pitter patter!

Their eyes catch after Stewart’s just barely managed to dodge another puck coming his way. Stewart’s already apologized for the no-tippin’ nonsense, but Wayne had kept aiming pucks his way until the skid finally called “uncle!” Now they’re a few feet apart, pucks scattered across the rink. Stewart’s holding his stick like a lifeline and his eyes are bright and wide and his cheeks are flushed. Wayne’s feeling hardly more than a little hot under the collar, bundled up as he is, but his heart’s racing harder than it ought to be just from some slapshots.  
  
Stewart’s gaze flicks to the side of the rink with bathrooms and Wayne’s pulse thrums. It almost rings in his ears, it’s so loud.    
  
“Well,” Wayne says in a slow drawl, “Pitter patter.”  
  
Stewart lets out a shrill, half-hysteric giggle and replies, “Pitter patter!” He drops his hockey stick like he’s been burned and skates around Wayne, all the while shooting him looks like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.  
  
To be honest, Wayne doesn’t quite believe it either. All he knows is Marie said _no_ to the modest ring and modest box he presented it in. All Wayne knows is he’s lonely and hurting and maybe, just maybe, Stewart ain’t quite as bad as he thought.  
  
Wayne huffs out a breath. _Right_. Stewart’s still a prick, but he’s not the worst Wayne could do, probably.    
  
Regardless, he tosses his own stick aside with a mental promise to clean the rink up nice and tidy once they’re done. He’s lucky enough that Glen’s absorbed in his phone, typing away furiously. It lets Wayne sneak off the rink to catch up to Stewart, just near the bathroom door.  
  
They both stop.  
  
“The locker rooms have benches,” Stewart supplies slowly.  
  
“Figured I’d just lift ya.”  
  
Another shrill noise. “Okay,” Stewart replies, breathless and short. Stewart slips into the bathroom and the door falls shut behind him. Just as quick, it’s open again, and Stewart pokes his head out.  
  
“Somethin’ wrong?” Wayne asks.  
  
Stewart startles like he’s caught off-guard; Wayne’s pretty sure the skid’s just eager, and damn if that doesn’t warm him up to this plan more and more. Regardless, Stewart seems embarrassed by his own lack of composure, and the bathroom door swings shut again.  
  
Doesn’t take more than thirty seconds, but by the time Wayne’s pushing the bathroom door open, Stewart’s out of his skates and jacket, wrestling out of his overalls next. Wayne lets him, sets about getting his own blades off and then, after a moment’s consideration, he undoes the top button of his shirt.  
  
“Ah,” Stewart says, eyes dropping to said button. To the sliver of skin exposed there. Predictable.  
  
Predictable is good, Wayne thinks. That he can handle.  
  
“Well, how we gonna fuck this pig?”  
  
Stewart’s nose wrinkles in distaste but by the way he’s squirming, Wayne thinks he likes it. “I’ve got lubricant.”  
  
Wayne raises an eyebrow.  
  
Stewart flips him off before retrieving the little bottle from his jacket. “I believe you said something about picking me up?”  
  
“Yup.” Wayne catches the lube when it’s tossed to him. “Gotta open you up first, I figure.” He makes a short twirling gesture with his hand. “‘Gainst the sink.”  
  
Stewart nearly trips over his clothes in his haste to obey. He braces himself against the sink and looks at Wayne in the mirror. The closer Wayne gets, the more Stewart shakes, and it’s oddly gratifying.  
  
Wayne makes short work of Stewart’s little tight briefs, shoving them down to his ankles. After that it’s hardly more than a hop, skip, and jump before he’s got two fingers slick and inside Stewart.  
  
Stewart, who’s loud. Which should not come as a surprise but still does. It’s all guttural grunts and whining, breathy moans. Not quite skinflick fake, but a little fabricated. Wayne’s reaching out before he can think.  
  
Gently, carefully, he lays his hand around the column of Stewart’s neck and presses down just enough to make the skid’s breathing hitch.  
  
“None of that fake nonsense,” Wayne says. He curls his fingers and the noise that tumbles from Stewart’s chapped lips is genuinely breathless. “That’s it.”  
  
Stewart shudders as he sinks against the, well, the sink. “C’mon,” he slurs, pushing his ass out and arching his back. “I’m good.”  
  
“Mm,” Wayne says. He doesn’t agree, though he doesn’t say so. Just slips a third slick finger into Stewart and listens to him cry out. Not a bad sound, not bad acoustics. The blush burning Stewart’s face and chest isn’t half bad neither.  
  
“C’mon!” Stewart says again a few minutes later, impatient. “Give it to me, hick.”  
  
Briefly, Wayne’s blood sugar ticks up a hair too high. He tightens his hand again and Stewart melts once more. Wayne grips him a little harder and thrusts his fingers a little faster and doesn’t stop until Stewart’s whining about coming. He’s squirming in Wayne’s hold like he’s trying to get away and can’t get enough. Wayne’s never been partial to desperation, but something about the way Stewart wears it...  
  
“Turn around, there you get,” Wayne says once he’s finally pulled his fingers out. He lets Stewart rest for a moment before taking him by the hips and hoisting him in the air with ease.  
  
Stewart flails for a moment but eventually winds his arms around Wayne’s neck, his legs around Wayne’s hips. His briefs are dangling from one ankle, Wayne knows cuz they’re bumping against his behind.  
  
Keeping most of Stewart’s weight on the sink, Wayne reaches down to free his straining cock from his jeans. Stewart drops his gaze down, subtle like a beer bottle to the head, and inhales sharply.  
  
When he looks up again, Wayne raises an eyebrow again. Stewart nods and, in what Wayne thinks is the man’s best attempt of seduction, says, “Pitter patter.”  
  
Wayne doesn’t roll his eyes but it’s a pert near thing. He keeps a hand around the base of his cock as he sinks into Stewart and can’t help but groan at the tight, wet heat.  
  
Stewart’s head tips back and his mouth drops open but no sound comes out. Nothing but a weak wheeze, like all the tone’s been punched out of him. Wayne thrusts in slowly, pushing in two inches, pulling back one, pushing in again.  
  
Eventually he’s all the way in, and Stewart’s giving him big eyes.  
  
“What?”  
  
“This is pretty...vanilla.”  
  
Wayne huffs.  
  
“Sure you don’t wanna...” Stewart grins, licks his lips and flutters his eyes like it’ll work. On anyone.

Wayne isn’t even sure what’s going through Stewart’s mind, although he does think back to something Roald had mentioned about a goldfish in rather _unmentionable_ places, and suppresses a shudder. He narrows his eyes at Stewart and says, “Just wanna do this, figure it out.”  
  
Stewart’s eyes widen fractionally before he nods. “Uh, okay, yeah.”  
  
Wayne nods back, plants both hands on Stewart’s hips, and starts to thrust. He pulls Stewart down to meet every thrust and pushes forward each time to meet his own rhythm.  
  
Stewart cries out each time Wayne sinks in to the hilt, like a satisfying little bell chiming. His hands are scrambling along the back of Wayne’s shirt, but it’s too tight for him to find purchase.  
  
_Doesn’t matter_ , Wayne thinks. This’ll be over soon. He’s buzzed and worked up and he figures Stewart’s about as randy as cats in heat.  
  
Wayne’s not especially loud but his groans harmonize well enough with Stewart’s own vocal nature. Stewart gives up trying to hold on to Wayne’s shirt and drops a hand between them, adding the slick sound of five-on-one to their cacophony.  
  
“Close,” Stewart says. Whimpers, more like.  
  
“Ten-four,” Wayne replies. It’s a natural response, ingrained in him, but Stewart shudders in his hold. Stewart’s head tips back again, his throat bobs, and he comes between them. Wayne leans away a bit, but it’s only cuz he doesn’t need spunk on this shirt.  
  
Wayne grunts as he gets closer to coming. Stewart’s watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. He’s still panting, still flushed, and if it weren’t for the stupid fucking hat on his head, Wayne would almost go as far to call him beautiful. At the very least, he’s got nice cheekbones; he could maybe muster up “pretty” if he didn’t think Stewart would throw a fit about it.  
  
Briefly, Stewart’s hand skirts the back of Wayne’s neck and scrapes, just so, and Wayne’s hips jerk forward one last time as he starts to come. He’s not normally one to forgo protection but something about this fucking holiday has his head in shambles, so he’s gonna give himself a pass this one time.  
  
Stewart’s mouth drops open again, cherry red, and he shudders in Wayne’s grasp.  
  
Still breathing heavy, Wayne helps Stewart get his feet on the ground. He makes quick work of doing up his own belt and jeans before fetching a wad of paper towels for Stewart.  
  
Except the skid moves quick, and he’s slipping back into his overalls without cleaning up first. Wayne stops abruptly.  
  
“‘Kay, Stewart. Stewart, ‘kay—“  
  
“I like it,” Stewart hisses with bared teeth and Wayne tosses the wad of unused paper towels away without further comment. “Tell no one about this.”  
  
Wayne shrugs. He’s not especially bothered by the toe curling _or_ Stewart’s behavior. “Lose the wig,” he says. He reaches out, Stewart frozen under his watchful eye, and flicks at the thin locks. “Looked better before.”  
  
With that, Wayne brushes past Stewart and out of the bathroom. He mostly ignores Stewart’s shout of, “It’s not a wig!”  
  
Glen’s waiting outside the bathroom with bright eyes and a smarmy twist to his lips.  
  
“Take about fifty percent off there, Glen,” Wayne tells him in a tone that brooks no room for arguing.  
  
Glen sighs, sounding dreamy, but he does obediently step aside, just in time to bump into Stewart as he exits the bathroom. Still sighing, Glen looks at Stewart and says, “You’re _so_ lucky.”

Stewart looks too shocked to reply and Wayne basks in the silence for a moment before turning to the rink. He’s got some picking up to do, after all.


End file.
